


The Heat Between Us

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 02:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10402005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: Prompt: Dance Instructor Ian-Mickey had been envisioning a small, energetic pixie of a woman, with a high ponytail and a tight sports bra, who would be annoyingly perky and squawk encouragement in a grating, high pitched voice. What he was not expecting was a lanky, toned, six foot something red headed man. His jaw goes a little slack. Mandy whistles, low and long.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seazu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seazu/gifts).



> All the dances Ian does are based on Caleb / The Fitness Marshall on Youtube, who is amazing and I highly recommend his videos as a visual aid (also they're just super fun).  
> https://www.youtube.com/user/TheFitnessMarshall

Mickey has never felt more out of place in his fuckin' life. He feels a fierce surge of bitter anger towards Mandy; for dragging him here in the first place, for forcing him to endure this humiliation. He's in a room surrounded by women of various ages, most of them wearing little clothing; crop tops, tight vests, sports bras, and all in those leggings that don't disguise anything. He's got a one way ticket to Camel Toe City and he's a very reluctant tourist.

It had all started when Mandy found a Groupon for dance classes. She'd been talking about getting a bit fitter since she'd started steady employment (if escorting can be called “steady employment”), and thought this sounded like a fun way to do it. Of course, she'd had visions of a room flooded with soccer moms and those fierce suited ladies who work in tall skyscraper offices, maybe some Duracell gym bunnies. A whole group of people ready to look down their noses at her. She needed backup. She needed moral support.

Mickey doesn't know how the fuck he qualified for any of that, but after much begging, fighting, and a little bribery, here he is. In his ugly sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a relatively clean tank. His idea of working out is entirely comprised of lifting weights, or the odd bodyweight circuit. Not this. Not prancing around in a room where all the walls are fuckin' mirrors. As if he needs to see his red faced, sweaty ass wheezing uncoordinated through cardio hell staring back at him from every angle. Fuck this place. Seriously. They haven't even started and he already hates it.

“Can you at least try and have a good time,” Mandy hisses. Mickey glares at her. “You look like someone shit in your Cheerios.”

“Fuck you. I don't even eat Cheerios.”

Mandy flips him off. Mickey rolls his eyes and huffs in annoyance. Can't wait for this fuckin' hour to be over and done with already. He looks forward, wincing as the woman in front of him bends and stretches, her leggings disappearing into the crevasse of her ass crack. Ain't even like there's any eye candy to keep him amused.

“Ain't we supposed to be started by now?” He glances back to Mandy. “Where is this bitch?”

Before Mandy can answer, the door to the studio swings open and the instructor jogs in. Mickey had been envisioning a small, energetic pixie of a woman, with a high ponytail and a tight sports bra, who would be annoyingly perky and squawk encouragement in a grating, high pitched voice. What he was not expecting was a lanky, toned, six foot something red headed man. His jaw goes a little slack. Mandy whistles, low and long. Mickey immediately tightens his jaw up so he can scowl at her. She just raises her eyebrows and smirks knowingly at him.

“Hey everyone, sorry I'm a little late. I see we've got a few new faces this week, so I'll just do a quick intro. I'm Ian, I'll be your instructor. This class is for everyone, so don't worry if you've never done dance before. I'll talk you through the steps, and no one is gonna judge if you don't get 'em first time, alright? We're all here to work up a bit of a sweat, but mostly we're here to move and have fun, right?”

Most of the woman murmur their assent, and Ian smiles brightly. Fuck, he's hot. There's no denying it. It's not just the body (and boy, is that a good body, all long limbs and toned muscle), but the face to go with it. His smile is wide and warm and makes his eyes crinkle in a way that is far too fuckin' endearing. His hair is pushed back out of the way, but one stray strand keeps tryna fall forward onto his forehead, and Mickey dunno how hair can be fuckin' hot, but apparently with this guy it's possible. Mickey uses one of the many mirrors to check him out so he can't be caught staring directly at him.

“Let's just do a nice light warm up to get started, okay? Get those bodies moving, that blood flowing, our muscles all nice and warm and ready to do some dancing.”

Well, he's got the irritating level of perkiness down, anyway.

They start with 'Me Too' by Meghan Trainor and Mickey rolls his eyes. Of course it's gonna be all shitty girly pop music. The moves are cheesy but simple enough to follow, and Ian gives them a brief talk through before they start. Mickey's following along just fine until they get to the chorus.

“Okay, go to Church!” Ian starts doing some kind of weird prancing walk, and Mickey looks around to see the rest of the class laughing and copying him. “Now we're just getting to the church, we're only starting to feel the spirit. Now let it overtake you!”

His weird prancing walk goes into overdrive and Mickey's eyebrows head for his hairline. This is ridiculous. He's almost certain this doesn't qualify as dancing. He's seen at least one and a half of the Step Up movies and by that standard this definitely doesn't qualify as dancing. Ian catches his expression and laughs.

“You can freestyle during that bit,” he explains. “Okay, and jump out.”

By the third time they're “going to church”, Mandy has put her own twist on it. Swinging her hips and raising her hands above her head like she's at a club. She's starting to get a light flush, and her face is bright with a warm, genuine smile. It almost balances out how stupid and embarrassing this shit is. Almost.

Some of the other songs ain't so easy to follow along with (Mickey is all flailing limbs during Fifth Harmony's 'Worth It'), and Ian doesn't always talk through the steps, just dives right in, or directs _as_ he's doing them. It's nice in that it don't feel condescending, but it's shit in that Mickey is frequently lost the first time round.

“Don't worry if you're not sure what to do first time,” Ian assures them. “Most of the moves repeat, so by the end of the song you'll have the hang of it. Long as everyone's havin' fun, right?”

Mickey might be the only person in the fuckin' room that don't cheer.

*

“Hey, well done, you two. You kept up pretty well today.” Ian grins as he comes to a stop in front of Mickey and Mandy. There's a towel draped over his shoulders and he's holding an open bottle of water. His fair skin is flushed red from the exertion (at least he's not the only one who blushes like a lobster, Mickey thinks), the stray strand of hair clinging to his forehead, and his skin slick with sweat. This close, Mickey can see his eyes are blue.

“That was so much fun!” Mandy returns Ian's grin, shifting a little closer to him.

“Yeah? Good. That's what I like to hear. You gonna come back, then?” His eyes skim from Mandy to Mickey when he asks, but then come back to rest on Mandy for the answer.

“Oh, definitely. That hour just flew in. I mean, I'm feelin' it now, but I was havin' so much fun it barely felt like working out.”

“Great. Well, I just thought I'd pop down and say hi before you leave. I like to properly introduce myself to everyone in the class, y'know? Keep the atmosphere a bit more friendly. So, I'm Ian, as you know.”

“Mandy,” she says, dragging her wrist along her forehead to wipe away sweat, then inclining her head towards Mickey. “And this is my brother, Mickey.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ian nods at her, then turns that bright smile back on Mickey. “And Mickey.”

Mickey nods in acknowledgement.

“I'll not hold you any longer, but I look forward to seeing you again.”

 _As fuckin' if_ , Mickey thinks.

*

“No.”

“Mick.”

“ _No._ ”

“I already paid for ten classes!”

“Well, that's fuckin' shit for you then, ain't it? Take one of the bitches from work.”

“I don't want to. I want you to go with me. C'mon, sibling bonding.”

“When the fuck do we ever bond?”

“Exactly.”

“Our idea of bonding is doin' a beer run.”

“Which is why we should be expanding our... Horizons or whatever.”

“No.”

“Didn't you have fun?”

“It was fuckin' ridiculous. I ain't lookin' like a dumbass again. You wanna do that? Fine. Do it on your own.”

“No one was lookin' at you, asswipe. Shockingly, the world does not revolve around you. No one in that room gave a fuck what your wheezy ass looked like.”

“Fuck you.”

“Look, you can be as grumpy and unenthusiastic as you want.”

“I could just not be there at all.”

“Don't you wanna see Ian again?”

“The fuck would I wanna see Carrot Top for?”

“Oh, _please_ , you totally have the hots for him. And you can pick your jaw off the floor, we've been over this, you're gay as Christmas and it's fuckin' obvious as hell to anyone who ain't blind.”

“What the fuck ever. I'm not goin' back.”

*

He hates Mandy. He hates her so much. Pushy, argumentative, manipulative bitch. After a bit of rough housing, a lot of swearing, and some coldly phrased blackmail, Mickey's ass ends up dragged back to the studio the next week. His grumpy, scowling reflection stares back at him from every angle. He hates Mandy, and he really fuckin' hates this room.

Ian is there when they arrive, chatting with a few women at the front of the room. His head tips back when he laughs and Mickey eyes the long, pale stretch of his throat as they walk past, absently tonguing at the corner of his mouth. Mandy glances over her shoulder and smirks at him. Mickey punches her in the arm.

“Shut up.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

Mandy rolls her eyes and kicks Mickey's ankle. He hisses and hops back a step.

“Bitch.”

“Asshole.”

“Cunt.”

“I don't blame you, though.”

“What?”

“He is pretty hot,” Mandy says, licking her own lips as she, too, looks Ian over. Mickey feels a possessive streak of jealousy coil hot and low in his stomach. It's not like it really matters; it's not like Ian's gay, or like Mickey's gonna make a move on him, but still. He doesn't like the idea of Mandy fuckin' him. Of having to be aware of that. That she took what he wanted. Age old sibling rivalry, but it flares up heatedly inside him.

“Fuck off,” is all he can think to say, and Mandy laughs as she flips him off.

*

“It's your body,” Ian yells over Rihanna's S&M, his hand sliding tantalizingly down over his chest and stomach. “You can touch it if you want.”

He's constantly spewing shit like that. Affirmations to the room of how sexy they are and how they can do what they want with their body and blah fuckin' blah. Bullshit that the women here lap up. Thing is, even though it's fake as shit, it don't feel fake when Ian says it. Though Mickey's distracted by the sight of Ian rubbing himself, so maybe the sincerity of his words ain't his main focus.

They cool down and Mandy's taking her sweet time getting ready to leave. Slowly sipping her water. Lingering. Mickey folds his arms and taps his foot impatiently, but she doesn't even fuckin' acknowledge him, let alone make any move to go.

“Yo. Earth to cuntface. Why ain't you movin'?”

“You go ahead,” Mandy says, waving a dismissive hand at him. “I wanna talk to Ian alone.”

Mickey's expression goes from vaguely irritated to full on stony in 0.3 seconds, his eyebrows scrunching together and his mouth turning down in a scowl.

“The fuck for?”

Mandy looks at him with a suggestive eyebrow raised.

“You even allowed to see people with your job?”

Mandy shrugs.

“Allowed to do whatever I want.”

“What if he's got an issue with it?”

“Ain't like I'm gonna tell him straight up. If it gets serious, we'll have that conversation when the time comes.”

“Right. Fine.” Mickey snatches up his water bottle.

“Awh, Mickey, don't be grumpy just 'cause I have the balls to go after what I want,” Mandy coos.

Mickey flips her off as he definitely does _not_ storm out. 'Cause that would seem too much like fuckin' caring.

*

Mandy finds him outside, smoking and staring moodily into the middle distance. She steals the smoke from between his fingers and takes a drag. Mickey's glare focuses in on her.

“Well, I had my suspicions, but I guess I know for sure now.”

Mickey looks at her questioningly, 'cause what the fuck is he meant to make of that? She says nothing. Continues smoking his fuckin' cigarette.

“You gonna continue bein' a cryptic bitch, or you gonna tell me what the fuck you're talkin' about?”

“Ian,” she says.

“What about him?”

“He's gay.”

Mickey's stomach does a sudden, excited, lurching somersault. He silently reprimands his body for bein' so fuckin' gay.

“Shot you down, then?” He tries not to sound so gleeful about it. He really does. Well, okay, maybe not that much, but still. Minimal effort, at least.

“Gently lowered me like I was a precious butterfly.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Means the ball's in your court now, motherfucker.”

*

During their fourth class, Ian puts on 'Anaconda'. Mickey cringes when he hears the song start. The rest of the class are laughing or smiling, and Mandy does a delighted cheer, but Mickey can only imagine the kind of ridiculous moves Ian will have for this one. He steels himself, but as Ian starts, it ain't too bad. Well, the slapping motion is kinda weird, but appropriate, he guesses. The exaggerated swagger walk he throws in is a bit cheesy, but no more than a lot of his other moves, and Mickey is actually able to follow along quite well to this song, considerin' his first run through new songs can sometimes be messy.

It almost feels more fuckin' cringe worthy due to the fact it's the censored version, though. The censored lyrics are just fuckin' weird. _Cookie put his butt to sleep_. Like, really, that the best they could fuckin' do? Since when was cookie ever fuckin' synonymous for pussy?

Then Mickey's nightmare visions come forth when Ian starts to twerk. Or, well, attempts to twerk, the best a white boy can manage. It ain't that he don't look good in his little butt flexin' attempts, it's just that, Ian ain't got no ass. His sweatpants sag down flat. He can't really pull it off the way it's intended to be, but he still throws himself into it, full enthusiasm, as with everything else.

“Come on, ladies! Shake your booties! No shame; you're all rockin' it and your butts look great. Other side!” Ian claps as he jumps to face the other direction and goes back to shaking what little ass he has. He catches sight of Mickey; frozen and mortified. “You too, Mickey. You've got a beautiful butt, lets see you work it.”

Mickey's glad he's already tomato red from exertion, because he'd rather die than be caught blushin'. Not that Ian's fuckin' makin' him blush or anything, but, y'know. Just in case. Glad he's got that cover. He flips Ian off, and Ian just laughs as he jumps, claps, and lands on the other side again. Beside him, Mandy does the same, shoving Mickey as she lands.

“Don't be a spoilsport!”

Mickey scowls. He feels like he's drawin' even more attention to himself for not joining in now; several sets of expectant eyes glancing back in silent encouragement. With a scowl, he joins in the next time they change direction, more just flexing his chest than his ass. Cheers ring round the room, but then everyone is focused on their own attempts. Mickey thinks poor Nicki would either find it hilarious or mortifying at half the weak attempts in here.

He's faced with his reflection the next time he turns, and his eyes skim down the mirror so he doesn't have to watch himself. He catches Ian's reflection, and realises Ian is watching him in the mirror. His eyes purposefully sliding down to Mickey's ass as a little smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, before breaking from his twerking attempts to go back to the earlier moves.

It's all too soon that he's calling out: “Okay, one final time!”

Mickey's quite certain he's not imaginin' the way Ian looks at him after that; smirking, eyebrow raised, a silent challenge. He tenses his jaw as he turns sideways, and this time he leans into the squat, actually moves his hips as well as his chest. He doesn't look at Ian as he does it; can't. Feels far too fuckin' ridiculous, like nothin' about this could be sexy. He's not Ian. He doesn't have rhythm or coordination. He doesn't look good doin' this shit. He looks like a sweaty, clumsy, fuckin' flushed lobster boy.

After they cool down, people start to dwindle out. Ian does his usual mingling, responding to comments, answering questions, floating among who's left. He stops by Mickey and offers him a warm, lopsided smile. His eyes look green today. Mickey's stomach does some kind of weird squeeze-flex thing that's irritatin' as hell. He glares back at Ian.

“Y'know, if you relaxed into it a bit more, you'd probably be a pretty good dancer, Mickey. You're just holdin' yourself so tense all the time. No one's gonna laugh at you, okay? Just try and have more fun with it next time.”

“Fuck off.”

“Mickey!” Mandy glowers at him, but Ian doesn't seem bothered at all. His smile doesn't even falter.

“Just try letting go. You know what they say: dance like no one's watchin'.”

“You're watchin',” Mickey says.

“Yeah.” Ian's grin only grows. “But as the instructor, I kinda watch everyone. Just, y'know. Ass like that. Demands attention.”

Mickey is momentarily stunned into silence; a rare occurrence. Mandy is matching Ian's grin now, delighting in Mickey's embarrassment. The fuckin' traitor.

“You did really great today, Mandy,” Ian says, changing his focus to the other Milkovich casual as anything, as if he didn't just gay flirt with Mickey. Right here in public. In front of his fuckin' sister. “You still up for kickboxin' on Thursday?”

“Course.” Mandy throws a few punches, and Ian puts his palms up to let her hit them. They both laugh, before he starts to back away.

“I'll see you then.” Ian's eyes move briefly to Mickey. “And I'll see you next week. Remember what I said.”

Mickey turns to Mandy with raised eyebrows once Ian is gone.

“Kick-boxin'?”

“Yeah, when I was tryna hit on him I asked if dancin' was all he did to get that hot body, but it turns out he's into all kinds of shit. Gets classes free 'cause he works here. Weights, spinning, swimming, circuits, running, and cardio kick-boxing. I thought that sounded pretty cool, so he said I should come to a class with him, check it out.”

“So I get dragged to your dumb dance class, but I don't get invited to kick-boxin'?”

“'Course not. I'm gonna learn to kick your ass even better. Can't have you there learnin' all my secrets.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well, nah, 'cause that's incest, and I know our family tree is all kinds of fucked, but we're outside of the inbreedin', Mick. Let's keep it that way.” Mandy dances out of the way of Mickey's shove, laughing. “And anyway, we both know it's Ian you're thirsty for.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Mickey and Ian sittin' in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N- Hey, hair pullin' is for little bitches. Lemme go.”

Mickey does, but only after she knees him hard enough in the balls to have him doubling over. Fuckin' bitch.

*

“Hey assface.”

Mickey looks up as Mandy prances into the Milkovich house, surprised to see her. It's not often she comes back to their home now that she's got out of South side, even with Terry put away again, for at least a couple of years before he has any shot at parole this time. She's dressed casual; jeans and a clingy hoody over a t-shirt. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, work out attire. For a while Mickey wonders if he's forgotten about their dance class, but he's certain that's not until early next week.

“What are you doin' here?” He licks a stray dribble of milk for his lower lip, dropping his spoon back into his mixing bowl portion of cereal. Lucky Charms, _not_ fuckin' Cheerios.

“Was at that kick-boxing class, thought I'd swing by before I head home.”

“Oh. How'd that go?”

“Pretty fuckin' intense. I felt like I was gonna die at least six times, and then they had us do all this strength shit in the middle of it? Like weighted sit ups and all these twists and stuff. I liked the punchin', though. Don't think I'd do the class again, but Ian says if I ever wanna come train with him, we can just do the fightin' moves bit.” Mandy drops down on the couch beside Mickey, and he doesn't miss the way her eyes skim around, even though there's no one else in the house. A vigilance she's learned over the years. Survival instinct. “Ian was barely out of breath. I think he's fuckin' Superman or some shit.”

Mickey snorts and shoves another spoonful of Lucky Charms into his mouth. Mandy gives his leg a little kick.

“So, you gonna ask him out or what?”

“'uz 'at 'ent so 'ell or ya.”

“Don't talk with your fuckin' mouth full, you absolute cretin.”

“Cretin?” Mickey blinks at her after he's swallowed. “You swallow a fuckin' dictionary or somethin'?”

“Nah, Iggy, Joey and I got high that one time and watched Monsters Inc.”

“Right.” Yeah. That makes a lot more sense.

“So, what were you tryna say while you were sprayin' your gross rainbow-saliva-milk all over me?”

“The fuck would I ask him out for? Went so well for you, right?”

“Obviously not, 'cause he's fuckin' gay. But, y'know, while I sometimes seriously question it, I'm still pretty certain you've got some balls down there, and while most of your dick is in your personality, there must be some attached, right?”

“Ha de fuckin' ha, you're a real hoot today.”

“Right? So yeah, I think you tick his boxes.”

Mickey wants to squirm under Mandy's intense fuckin' gaze. This whole conversation is makin' him uncomfortable. Knowin' she knows he's gay and is chill with it is one thing. That's a fuckin' relief, but discussin' it like this? Havin' her tryna play cupid? That's a step too far. Mickey wants this shit shut down.

“I'm not- I don't even-”

“You're not, what? 'Cause we both know you're gay and thirsty for that boy like you're stranded in the desert and he's a fuckin' oasis. Don't even try tellin' me you don't want that, Mickey. I've seen you eyefuckin' him for weeks now. Nowhere to hide in that room, y'know? All those mirrors. I see all.”

“Alright, Mystic Meg.”

“Look, he's totally in to you, too.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“He told me.”

“What?” For the first time, Mickey's attention drifts from the television to focus in on Mandy. He really doesn't wanna look interested by that, but he can't even feign disinterest. He may as well have his ears twitchin' at the words.

“Yeah, well, I asked him, obviously. If he's so desperate for some testosterone in that room that he flirts with every guy that steps through the door? But nah. He likes you. He just can't do shit about it since, y'know, he's the instructor. It's inappropriate if he makes the first move. Thinks you ain't interested, though.”

“Why?” Mickey asks, then, quickly, trying to backtrack. “Not that I-”

“'Cause, dumbass,” Mandy cuts him off. “Every time he tries to flirt with you, you get all quiet or tell him to fuck off. Not really that encouraging, is it?”

As Mandy's talking, Iggy comes through the door, and Mickey feels a jolt of panic shooting through him. His muscles go tense. His hand tightens on his spoon, knuckles white. 'Cause Iggy definitely heard that.

“Hey Mands,” he says, shrugging off his jacket.

“Yo.”

“Mickey finally come out, then?”

“What the fuck?” Mickey starts to puff up defensively; automatic.

“Chill, Mick. I told you, it's fuckin' obvious,” Mandy says, patting his knee in a way that's probably meanta be comforting, but just makes Mickey feel like he's being dismissed as a dumb kid that don't quite understand somethin' the adults know.

“Who else knows?” he practically snarls, teeth grit.

“Basically everyone, y'know, besides Terry. Joey and Jamie and Colin all know,” Iggy says, flopping down beside Mandy. Mickey closes his eyes and breathes harshly through his nose as he tries to process that. “So who's the guy?”

“There's no fuckin' guy.”

“Oh, wait 'til you see him,” says Mandy, pulling out her phone.

“Wait.” Mickey tries to look over her shoulder, surprised and a little irritated that she seems to have a picture of Ian to hand. “You've got a fuckin' photo of him?”

“Better. I've got him on Facebook.” She pulls up his profile and flicks through his photos for Iggy to see. There's one of him with a group of the other workers at the gym, one of him with a couple of teens and a little black boy, one of him flexing and pulling a silly face, and one of him with the fuckin' stupid dog filter off Snapchat.

“Alright already, I think Iggy knows what he looks like by now,” Mickey snaps, feeling that odd possessiveness curl in his tummy again. It only flares stronger at Iggy's next words.

“Shit, man. He's hot as hell. If you don't wanna piece of that, maybe I can get in on it.”

Mickey did not know Iggy had the ability to surprise him. Mickey, as it turns out, does not know as much about his siblings as he thought. Certainly less than they seem to fuckin' know about him.

“You're fuckin' gay now?” He stares across Mandy, who is just grinning wickedly as she continues to skim through Ian's photos, his eyebrows basically ascending to his hairline.

“Nah,” Iggy says, scratching his jaw. “I can appreciate both chicks and dicks. Just easier to stick to chicks 'round here, y'know?”

Mickey's eyebrows attempt to go even higher, but they're at their limit. He stares at Mandy until she glances up from her phone, his expression silently asking if she knew. Her grin widens.

“Imagine how fucked off dad would be if he knew he raised two queers,” she says.

“'Raised' bein' a term used very loosely here,” Iggy says.

“True.”

“Maybe I should come to one of these classes with you.”

Mickey can only scoff at that. He knows Iggy's idea of a workout is havin' to open a can with a knife instead of the little pull tab. That and occasionally fleeing the pigs.

“What? I could get into dancin' if I had something like that to stare at.”

“Amen!”

Mickey glares at them both, feelin' a touch flushed with the waves of jealousy rolling through him. He doesn't even understand why he's feelin' this way. Certainly never felt this way about anyone before, but then again, he's never had a (dare he say it?) _crush_ on anyone before, either. Ugh. It even feels pathetically middle school in his head, and Mickey quickly rejects the word. Nah. It's just lust. He just needs a good lay. That's all.

“So.” Iggy leans forward over Mandy's shoulder, and now Mickey has two sets of expectant eyes on him. “You gonna ask him out, then?”

“Fuck you. Fuck both of you.”

*

After the first few classes, Mickey actually starts enjoying them. Once he's got the hang of some of the dances and doesn't feel like a clumsy, lumbering idiot any more. Not that he would ever admit this out loud. Can't let Mandy have the fuckin satisfaction.

Another thing he would never admit is the fact he fuckin' practices. Can't always remember all the choreographing, but the moves he does remember, he tries to recreate. It doesn't work as well with his own music, but that's just background noise, really. The movement of his body is what he's focusing on. For one, he feels good, better than he has in a while. Not that he was particularly out of shape, but he's got more energy and generally feels a bit better in his body, now. Enjoys feeling it move.

A little part of him wants to be good, too. Wants to impress Ian. Especially now, especially after he caught him watching him with that heated gaze, and after his confession to Mandy. If Ian's eyes are gonna be on him, Mickey wants the show to be worthwhile.

He makes sure he has the tiny couch in his room pushed in front of the door when he's practising, though. 'Cause there's no way in hell he's havin' any of his brothers walkin' in on him twerkin' to Metallica. No fuckin' thanks.

*

“Hey.” Ian is beaming that lopsided smile at him and Mickey thinks it's entirely unfair that someone so sweat soaked and flushed red can still look so fuckin' good. What an asshole. “You looked like you were havin' a lot more fun today. I'm glad you took my advice and let loose a bit more.”

“You watchin' me again?” Mickey presses his tongue against the inside of his lower lip. Ian's eyes trace the movement. They're caught somewhere between blue and green today, changing with the light.

“Not, like, the whole time,” Ian says, playing coy. Mickey ain't buyin' it for a second.

Mandy clears her throat.

“I gotta go piss,” she says, and gives Mickey a purposeful look. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Could she be any more fuckin' obvious?

“You did look real good today, though,” Ian says quietly, once Mandy is gone.

“You sayin' I don't always look good?”

“Your movements, though. It's nice to see you let go.”

“Yeah, see, I'm thinkin' I could still improve, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe with some personal guidance. Y'know, one on one?”

Ian gets the message. Mickey watches as a grin starts to blossom across his face; wide and eager, and Ian tries to fight it down, tries to play cool. He's failing somethin' awful, but somehow the whole display is just endearing as shit.

“Hm. Yeah. I think that's definitely a good idea. I'm free now. As is this studio.”

Mickey's body throbs a quiet protest at the thought of more movement after just finishing a class, but his cock throbs for a completely different reason. Its argument is much more convincing.

“Lemme just get rid of Mandy.”

*

Ian's playing a slower song when Mickey comes back into the room, one he hasn't heard before. He raises his brows questioningly. He thought they'd been talkin' in euphemisms. He didn't think Ian was actually gonna do dancin' with him.

“What's this?”

“'Ride'. It's a sex song.” Ian flashes him a smile that is absolutely full of devious intentions, and Mickey's stomach turns into a squirming mess. He's getting real sick of all the weird tummy feels Ian gives him. Could really live without them.

“Alright, Mickey. Let's see you embody sexiness. This song is about doin' what you want with your body.”

_Whisper dirty secrets while I'm pullin on your hair._

“Rather be doin' what I want with your body.”

“C'mon. Personal guidance. Indulge me.”

_Fevers fuckin' runnin', feel the heat between us two._

Of course, what Ian leads him into is a dance full of chest poppin' and hip rollin', 'causing Mickey's ass to pop and bounce and wiggle as he follows along with him. Ian meets his eyes in the mirror reflection and watches him heatedly as he leads them down to their knees.

_I'm gon ride on you baby... all night._

Then Ian starts singin' along. Ain't like he's an amazin' singer or anything, but his voice is low and soft in the space between them, sounding more like murmured promises than any true attempt to match the song.

“I'm gonna take care of your body. I'll be gentle, don't you scream. Getting hotter, make it softer, feel your chest on top of me.” He licks his lips and Mickey moves for him, only for Ian to push him back into position, sideways now, so Ian's behind him with a prime view of his ass. “Song isn't finished yet, Mickey.”

“Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?”

“Grind it out.”

_I'm gon ride._

Mickey decides if he's stuck finishing Ian's stupid dance with a boner, the best he can do is make sure Ian's suffering just as much as he is. He really throws himself into it, hands above his head as he rolls his hips forward, exaggerated. He hears Ian swear softly behind him and he feels satisfied pride swell in his chest.

“Fuck, Mick. You're so fuckin' hot.”

Once the song ends, Ian is on him. Tackling him onto the wooden floor and kissing him with a ferocity Mickey did not realise Ian was capable of. Puppy dog enthusiasm, yeah, but this dominant kind of force is a surprise. One that's sending electric sparks right down to his cock.

“Door,” he manages, muffled against Ian's lips.

“Locked it when I came back in.” Ian rolls his hips against Mickey's, tugging his head back with a hand in his hair as he mouths hotly down his throat. Mickey pants, watching in the mirror as Ian moves down his body.

He'd be lying if he said he hasn't fantasized about Ian fucking him in the studio. Multiple times. Watching in the mirror as Ian fucks into him. Seeing Ian from every angle; all his muscles flexing as he moves, his ass clenching with each thrust, the way his shoulder blades would tighten and loosen, the bulge of his biceps as he holds Mickey's hips tight enough to bruise.

They don't get quite that far this time. They're buzzed with endorphins and arousal, and Ian spends little time teasing Mickey before he's got his sweatpants down and his cock in his mouth. Ian licks a strip up along the length of it, circles the tip, and then promptly takes Mickey all the way into his throat. He inhales deeply when his nose is pressed into the black curls of Mickey's pubes, and moans, low in his throat, vibrating around Mickey.

“Fuck,” Mickey murmurs.

Ian's head pops up briefly.

“You smell so fuckin' good,” he says, and then swallows Mickey down again before he can respond. He doesn't last long; his countless reflections arching their backs off the floor and panting open mouthed as they come with him.

*

“No fair,” Mandy says a few weeks later, as they're takin' a water break halfway through their class.

“What's not fair?”

“You're better than me now.”

“Ain't my fault you got two left feet, bitch. Hey!” Mickey rubs his arm where Mandy punched him, scowling.

“You must be gettin' a whole lotta private tuition. You were shit before.”

“I was never shit.”

“Compared to how you are now, you were shit.”

Which, yeah, okay, that's probably fair. Mickey looks across the room and catches Ian's eye in the far mirror, where he's been subtly watching him. Ian smiles, and though he tries as hard as he can, Mickey can't help but smile back.

“Aww! You are so precious, Mick.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Things going well, then?” Mandy lowers her voice a touch, shifting closer to him, and beneath the teasing he can see the concerned sibling. Mickey sucks on his lower lip briefly, before nodding.

“He used the b word the other night.”

“Bondage?” Mandy grins cheekily, and this time Mickey goes for her nipples. She promptly punches him away.

“Ow. Shit. I gotta get Ian to start teachin' me to punch like that too so I can defend myself from this Rocky bullshit.”

“So you're getting all serious then?”

“Maybe. I dunno.”

“Iggy says you bang like you're tryna bring the house down around you.”

“He- What the fuck? He's textin' you updates now?”

“Well, someone's gotta keep me updated since you never bother to fuckin' text me. Too busy bangin' your boyfriend, I assume.”

Mickey's eyes flick around the room, briefly alarmed. Even now, he still feels tense and defensive. He's getting better, but he's still new at this. The fear is still deep set. Mandy touches his wrist and frowns apologetically.

“Says Ian talks like somethin' right out of a porno,” Mandy adds in a whisper. It has the desired effect; Mickey's distracted from his discomfort into disgusted outrage.

“I'm gonna kick his fuckin' ass.”

*

“I used to be a dancer,” Ian says, his voice breaking the quiet of their post fuck stillness.

“You are a dancer.” Mickey's words are muffled from where his face is mashed against Ian's shoulder.

“No, but, like, in a club. Boystown. These tiny gold shorts. On a podium. Or when I worked the floor, I did lap dances.”

“For real?”

“For real.” Ian chews his lip as his fingers work through Mickey's hair. “I told you I got into this 'cause my therapist suggested I stay active, and when I got a part time job at the gym I got some free classes, and I... I was good at it. I was scared it would feel like before, y'know. Might be triggering or something, but it wasn't. It just felt... Good. I've always liked dancing. It's kind of freeing. Just... Moving. Not caring what you look like, just letting your body flow and feel good.”

“It's kinda like sex.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is, kinda. I get the same kind of rush. Well, not _exactly_ the same, but... Am I making any sense?”

“You are. I get it.” Mickey kisses the corner of Ian's mouth. “I mean, I don't feel quite as strongly as you do, but... I like it too.”

“You do?”

“Don't look so surprised. I come back, don't I?”

“'Cause Mandy drags you.”

“I dance with you.”

“'Cause I make you.”

“Nah. I do like it. Not at first; I felt stupid at first. Like it was dumb and it would make me look ridiculous, but you were right. Once I let go, once I stopped worrying about what other people thought... It felt good.”

“Freeing, right?”

“I don't know if I'd go that far, but, I guess it's kind of like us.” Mickey's cheeks tinge pink, and he burrows into Ian's neck, trying to physically hide even as he emotionally opens up; as if that balances it out. “Being with you. Being able to be openly... Gay. Me. Even just with us... Ian, what you and I have makes me free.”

“Good,” Ian says softly, pressing a kiss to Mickey's temple. “I'm glad.”

“Me too.”

 

 


End file.
